Brotherly Glue
by MissDoctorDonna
Summary: Takes place directly after Breaking Points. Deals with what happened to the boys after the ruckus in the saloon. No slash.


**Set directly after Breaking Points. Standard disclaimers. Don't own, don't profit, don't sue. No slash. Also, I have no idea of educational standards in America in the 1800s, so let's just pretend what I say is true and move on. Thank you to those who have given such fantastic reviews to previous stories too.**

Morning had broken, sunlight glared through the windows facing the cells, coffee had been brewed and all was quiet and calm in Four Corners. Ezra and Vin sat, sipping their brews in silent communion, waiting patiently for their older brother to awaken and unleash hell. Neither man was particularly looking forward to it, but each had resigned themselves to trying to talk some sense into Chris for the good of the family. Vin glanced at Ezra's placid countenance and decided to let the older man lead the charge. Slouching a little more, he unobtrusively manoeuvred himself so that his shoulder touched Ezra's, quietly soaking up the southerner's calm. A small, secret smile lifted the corners of the gambler's mouth, knowing that his younger brother was seeking comfort and proud that he was able to provide it. His thoughts returned to the clinic, wondering how Buck was faring.

JD had spent the night in the clinic with Buck, watching over him as the emotionally and physically battered older man slept uneasily, soothing him when nightmares plagued the big man. Despite the potion that Nathan had poured into him, Buck had woken with a scream in the early hours, prompting the young Sheriff to crawl onto the bed with him. Half-awake and thoroughly terrified, Buck had clung to JD, sobbing and pleading for him to bring Sarah and Adam back. Holding his grieving brother close, JD ran his fingers through Buck's thick hair and murmured nonsense, rocking him gently. As the younger man provided the comfort that Buck had been needing but denied for three years, the older man slowly exhausted his tears, weeping softly until sleep claimed him. Not long after, JD had followed his friend into sleep, tear trails still fresh on both men's faces.

Nathan returned from having spent the night at the boarding house, where he'd been called to tend a colicky baby belonging to a young family travelling through town. Opening the door quietly, he paused with a fond smile on his face at the sight of the two brothers in the bed. JD was still half propped up against the headboard, head lolling to one side, open mouthed and snoring lightly. Buck was sprawled on his belly, one leg hanging over the edge of the bed, with his head on JD's chest and an arm thrown across the boy's belly. The slight breeze from the open door caused the bruised face to scrunch as Buck's sore body squirmed a little, trying to draw the exposed leg back under the warm covers. Without waking, JD rolled his head to rest his cheek on the top of Buck's head and moved his hand in long, slow strokes up and down the broad back in a calming motion that had kept the nightmares at bay most of the night. Sighing, Buck pulled JD closer and stilled as he slid deeper into sleep.

Seeing that Buck was in good hands, Nathan decided to go and get them all some breakfast before waking them. Walking towards the restaurant, he heard a low call and stopped to wait for Josiah to catch up.

"Mornin', 'Siah. How are you doin'," greeted Nathan, grinning at his friend as they strode towards the source of the delicious smells.

Returning the grin, with a toothy smile of his own, Josiah rumbled, "Reckon I'm better than some, Nate. How's poor Buck this morning?"

"Using JD as a pilla, last I saw," replied the healer, his eyes sparkling with mirth, opening the door for his friend. "Figured I'd come down and get some breakfast for 'em, fore they woke up and he tried to make a break for it. Reckon he might be lookin' for a softer pilla before long."

"Must be the morning for good works, Brother, since I thought I'd take some food over to the jail," said Josiah.

Alarmed that he'd missed something, Nathan cried, "Who's at the jail? Did something happen last night?"

Remembering that Nathan had left with Buck and JD, before Chris had been carted off to jail, Josiah grinned and leaned forward to quickly relate the tale in hushed tones, enjoying the dawning look of horrified awe on the healer's face.

"Damn, 'Siah! Chris ain't gonna be happy with Ez. Best get that Southern fool outta town 'fore Chris sobers up," advised Nathan, rubbing his hand over his head as he considered his stock of bandages. He figured he'd be needing them to patch up the holes Chris was going to shoot in Ezra.

"Oh, somehow I think our gambler can hold his own with Chris. Seems Ez has been hiding more than a few cards up those red sleeves of his," chuckled Josiah, nodding his thanks to the waitress for the cup of coffee she placed in front of him.

"That's for sure. It was all I could do not to up and salute him last night. Reckon he served?"

"I'm sure of it. Remember the way he handled that cannon at the village?"

Lapsing into silence, each occupied with their own contemplations of the gambler's possible past, they waited to be served. The restaurant was usually busy early on, with people wanting a hearty meal before a long working day. After they'd given their orders to the young waitress, they sat sipping their coffee as Nathan told his friend about his early morning call out whilst waiting for their food. Soon thereafter, they separated at the front of the restaurant and went in opposite directions, each with a tray of food.

Groaning quietly, Chris struggled back to consciousness. The sun was shining directly into his face, causing his head to pound mercilessly. Cautiously lifting his trembling hand, he rubbed at the spot on his jaw that was hurting the most, deciding that someone had hit him at some point. Based on previous experience, he knew it had to have been Buck and if he opened his eyes, he'd find himself in his bed at the boarding room and his old friend would be sitting on the chair beside him, waiting for him to wake up and complain. Slowly, sounds and sensations filtered into his groggy mind that alerted him to the fact that he was not in his own bed. Buck never left him fully clothed like he was now and his bed was softer and wider than the bed he was currently occupying. Wondering what had happened, Chris managed to clear his dry throat and unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth in order to moan, "Buuuuuuck?"

"The sanctified dead have arisen, Mr Tanner," drawled Ezra, rising smoothly to his feet at the first sound from Larabee. The tracker remained mute, apprehensive about the gunslinger's reaction, but rose to stand by the gambler's shoulder in support.

Rolling over slowly to lie on his back, Chris swallowed painfully at the resulting nausea and agony. Trying to sit up took more energy than he currently possessed, so he just stayed where he was and breathed as deeply as he dared staring at the ceiling. Realising that he was in a cell at the jail, he shifted his gaze to the two men at the door of the cell and growled, "What happened?"

Tapping a slender finger on his chin, Ezra pretended to ponder the question a moment before answering, "Before or after you beat your best friend to the ground?"

Wincing inside, Chris maintained his stoic exterior and waited for further information.

"Ah, I see we are going with our standard strong, silent routine. Bravo. All right then, these are the facts as witnessed by myself. You sat and stewed in the saloon all day yesterday, gradually consuming three bottles of that rotgut you call alcohol. You snapped and snarled at any of your well meaning friends whenever they dared to enter your lair. Finally, at the end of the day, shortly before midnight, Mr Wilmington daringly attempted to stave off your early death from alcohol poisoning by convincing you to go to your bed. In thanks for his loving, devoted care, you punched him in the face not once but three times. You aided his descent to the ground with several blows to the chest and abdomen. Once he lay prostrate at your feet, bleeding and broken, you then drew back your booted foot in order to kick him as hard as you could in his unprotected back, as the man tried to roll himself away from your attack. Never once, did Buck attempt to defend himself against you."

Vin watched his friend's face the whole time Ezra was telling Chris what had happened in clear, unvarnished truths. The southerner's tone dripped with disdain and was icy with disapproval; so very different to his usual warm, lilting, mellifluous tones. Chris returned his eyes to the ceiling, not long into the gambler's diatribe, throwing an arm over his eyes when Ezra reached the part about him kicking Buck. But he wasn't fast enough to hide the shame, self-loathing and tears, before Ezra and Vin saw them.

Shooting a quick glance at Vin and seeing a plea for leniency in his friend's vivid blue eyes, Ezra shook his head sadly and went on with his tale.

"I stepped forward to stop you from doing further harm to a helpless man, which is why you are now incarcerated, smelling like a brewery, with an aching jaw and most likely a 'hitch in yer git-a-long' as Mr Tanner would so quaintly put it. I imagine my abrupt and violent halting to your attack may have resulted in your pulling some muscles in your leg and groin. I poured a jug of ale over you in an attempt to cool your temper and then went to Mr Wilmington's aid. From what I saw, you blackened his eyes, broke his nose, split his lip and either cracked or broke a couple of his ribs. Worse than that, you broke the poor man's heart and spirit. A fine reward for such loyalty and love over how many years, Mr Larabee? Fifteen? Twenty?"

Grinding his teeth, trying to shut out both the voice and the harsh truths it spoke, Chris felt bile rise and threaten to erupt.

Mercilessly, despite the fact that Vin now had one white-knuckled hand gripping one of the bars of the cell and one gripping the back of Ezra's jacket, the southerner pressed on, "Mr Wilmington has borne the weight and pain of your black moods, your irrational blame, your vile tempers and your violence for three years or more. He's nursed you through hangovers and drinking sickness, he's patched you up after fights whilst ignoring his own injuries, he's made excuses for you, defended you against the criticism and violence of others, and accepted every scrap of abuse you've dished up to him. All of this whilst trying to cope with his own grief over losing the closest thing he'd had to family since his mother passed. He'd lost a warm, loving sister. He'd lost an adoring, innocent nephew. And he'd lost his fun-loving, supportive brother. All he had left was a selfish, self-destructive, angry, bitter, violent drunk wearing his brother's face."

"Ez... please," whispered Vin, tears streaming down his face as he saw the shuddering increase in the long, lean body stretched out on the bed in the cell. "Enough."

"Having convinced Mr Wilmington to allow Messrs Jackson and Dunne to care for him at the clinic, I then offered you the choice of your room or a cell. At that point you chose to insult me and rose with murderous intent, so I rendered you unconscious and had you brought here for the safety of the general public as well as your own good," finished Ezra, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting to see what Chris' reaction would be.

"Is Buck alright?"

The Hoosier's voice came out thick and a little choked.

"We've not seen him since last night, but his injuries were not life threatening. I imagine the physical pain pales in comparison to his emotional anguish," stated Ezra evenly. He'd hoped to prompt some sort of reaction from Larabee. He knew that the lean gunslinger was more than likely still heavily intoxicated, but even so, he'd thought he'd draw an angrier response. He'd hope to bring the festering wound to the surface so that he could lance and drain it, but it seemed that Chris had exhausted his anger for now. Sighing, Ezra deflated and reached into his pocket for the keys to the cell.

Opening the cell door, Ezra went in and dipped up some water in the battered mug. Going over to the bed, he lifted Chris' arm and looked into the tear washed hazel eyes, unsurprised when the arm was wrenched viciously from his grip to scrub away the moisture. Stepping back, he watched with an outwardly passive face as Chris hauled himself into a sitting position. Itching to help but knowing he'd be rebuffed, Ezra's jaw ached in sympathy at seeing the way the black clad man was clenching his teeth against the pain and sickness. Silently, he offered the cup of water before advising, "Sip slowly."

Vin moved into the cell and lowered himself carefully to sit beside his friend, offering his quiet support.

Swallowing the water carefully, Chris kept his eyes lowered as he tried to control his body and his temper. Feeling angry was easier than feeling pain, so he allowed his anger to grow. How dare the cocky southerner judge him! As for Buck... He should have known better than to interfere. Even as he thought it, Chris knew he didn't believe it. Sullenly, he spat, "What do you know about what I'm feeling? You ain't never lost anyone! You've never had your child stolen from you. How dare you speak about my family. You weren't there!"

Vin looked up and was floored by the raw pain in Ezra's green eyes. The Texan suddenly had a very bad feeling about the way this was going to turn out.

Memories threatened to overwhelm him for a moment, but the gambler resolutely forced them back into the box in his mind with practised discipline. Pulling his poker face on, he turned away from the men on the bed, saying drily, "Of course, Mr Larabee, no-one else knows your depth of suffering. But then, you know that because none of us attempt to drown ourselves in rotgut as you do, do we? But wait... Mr Sanchez has been known to do so on occasion. Have you ever wondered why? Did you ever take the time to ask him why or to listen to his drunken ranting and try to see the truth behind it? Has he told you of his past? His mother taken too early, his father stern and oppressive, his sister driven mad. Or, of his wives, son and other unborn children, all taken from him too soon by disease and hardship? But what does he know of pain? It is nothing to yours, obviously."

Spinning to pin the gunslinger with a glare, the gambler went on angrily, "Then there's Mr Jackson. His life has been simply idyllic, has it not? His mother and father grew old together happily with all their children, didn't they? Oh wait, they didn't. Instead Mr Jackson's mother was ripped from him at an early age by violence, his father by disease and his sisters were sold away or had to be left behind when he ran for his life and freedom. All lost to him, leaving him alone, bereft and plagued by guilt, loss and doubt. But you wouldn't know of his pain as he bears it with dignity, looking to the future and trying to help anyone he can as a way to alleviate his own pain."

Taking a ragged breath and consciously unclenching his fists, Ezra paused to glare at Chris, infuriated that the blond still sat calmly. Determined to break through and provoke a response, he went on, "Then there's Messrs Dunne, Wilmington and Tanner, all of whom lost their mothers at tender ages. Mr Tanner then lost his grandfather, was kicked from abusive place to neglectful place before finding a loving home with the Indians, only to have them brutally taken from too. Mr Wilmington raised himself after his sainted mother passed and we know how his second family turned out. Mr Dunne is perhaps the luckiest, having his mother the longest and then having the good fortune to stumble upon our happy band of brothers. But he's just had the shock of seeing the man he idolizes beat the hell out of the man he loves like an older brother."

Vin watched with tear filled eyes as Josiah entered the jail with a tray of food. The preacher gently slid the tray onto the desk before balancing his butt on the edge of the desk, listening solemnly. He'd been listening outside the door for most of Ezra's speech and was curious to see what would happen now.

Head down, Chris was also listening. His trembling had increased alongside his growing shame at how he'd allowed his own grief to blind him to the suffering of his new family and he was eternally grateful for the solid presence of the Texan at his side. Leaning slightly towards Vin, he sucked in a breath when Vin leaned toward him and their shoulders met. Fortified, he whispered into the silence, "What about you?"

"Me? What about me? What would I know of pain, Mr Larabee? I don't let anyone close enough to hurt me. Besides, I'm a cheat and conman, hardly a likely prospect for any young ladies and there's no profit in having children," stated the gambler bitterly.

"Bullshit! I've seen the way you look after Vin. I've seen you with the kids in town and at the village, how you treat them and care about them. I've seen you with that she-wolf you call mother too and how you let her hurt you time and again. You've laid bare everyone else's lives, the least you can do is be honest about your own. 'Til you do, I still say you got no call to judge me," yelled Chris angrily, looking up into Ezra's eyes in challenge, daring him to reveal his own painful past.

Mouth thinned to an almost invisible slash, Ezra stared back, glad to have finally gotten a reaction from the man. Finally, he nodded and held up his left hand with only the ring finger extended, highlighting the plain gold band. His voice as dry as the desert at noon, he asked, "Have you never wondered why I wear this? Knowing your indifference to me, probably not. But I too was married once. I met her in a hospital towards the end of the late unpleasantness, when she volunteered to visit with the wounded to offer them comfort and hope. She was beautiful, inside and out, shining with goodness. I couldn't believe it when she said yes to my proposal. I vowed to bring nothing but happiness into her life. She certainly brought love, light and happiness to mine. We married a mere two months after meeting, knowing that what we had was forever, moved to Memphis and had our first child ten months later, our second a year after that. I was deliriously happy for the first time in my miserable life."

Vin reached out and clutched Chris' arm, wordlessly begging the blond not to say anything to hurt Ezra. Chris covered Vin's hand with his own reassuringly, his eyes glued to the gambler.

"My father was a gambler and a conman, gentlemen. Gamblers and conmen do not live long lives and then die of old age in bed, surrounded by their loved ones. They die young and bloody and alone, which is what happened to my Daddy when I was four years old. He was beaten, robbed and left to die alone in a back alley by the very men he'd just deprived of their wages at the poker table. Mother was never the same afterwards, she withdrew her affections from me and would leave me with any convenient person, whether they were family, friend or stranger. I lived an itinerant life, never wanted, never welcome, mostly neglected, used as slave labour, abused and starved. Unless I was needed in one of her cons, my loving Mother didn't want to see me because I was and continue to be a constant remembrance of who she lost. My Daddy was the only person she ever loved more than herself. Still, I always have and continue to hope that she will one day see me for the man I am, rather than the man she lost. So you see, I am intimately aware of how grief can turn a person ugly and mean."

Chris again felt a hot, prickling wave of shame at how he'd been treating these men he'd come to call brothers, but could not avert his eyes from the sight of the normally contained gambler as he unravelled in front of them.

Ezra swallowed and cleared his suddenly husky voice. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself, as though holding himself together physically was the only thing stopping his soul from shattering into a million pieces. Vin, Chris and Josiah sat spellbound, each wanting to gather the southerner up and shelter him, tell him he could stop, but they held back. Each knew how important this moment was, how momentous it was to be trusted by the squirrelly gambler.

Leaning against the bars, Ezra went on, "I didn't want my children or wife to be left to grieve my premature death, so from the moment my Emmaline consented to be my wife, I didn't touch a card. I supported my family by working as a nurse in a hospital in Memphis. After a patient asked for my help in drafting a will, I came to the notice of a local lawyer, who took me under his wing and trained me in the law. It was a useful skill and I proved to be quite adept, so I eventually stopped working at the hospital and went into practise with Mr McLochlin. Unfortunately, lawyers are about as popular as gamblers and I found myself prosecuting a miscreant by the name of Socrates Johnson. He was on trial for kidnapping, raping, torturing and murdering five little girls."

Vin's grip on Chris tightened and a sick feeling made the bellies of all three men clench, somehow knowing that this was not going to end well.

Dull, dead eyes looked out the window, as Ezra grimly continued his harrowing history, "Socrates was imprisoned, but unbeknownst to us all, his siblings Plato and Aristotle were in the area. Named for famous philosophers by their old Master, but none of them were particularly bright. In fact, the treatment they'd received since birth had led them to be slow witted and cruel. But they were loyal to one another and in an effort to save their brother, they stole my wife and children from my home whilst I was working late on the case. I withdrew from the case, but the judge would not meet their demands and in hanging Socrates, he signed the death warrants of my darlin' Emmaline and our precious babies."

Silence stretched out as Ezra fought to pull himself together long enough to finish. Finally, after heaving in a deep breath, he went on, "The sheriff wouldn't let me see their bodies after they were found, for fear the sight of what those deranged animals did would drive me to suicide or madness. We buried them all together under a shady tree in the local cemetery. I planted a jasmine bush on their grave, then I walked away from the law, Memphis, my home and a normal life. I hunted down Plato and Aristotle and sent them to join their brother in hell. With no purpose left in my life, I returned to my former occupation and lifestyle, becoming once again the shiftless, no-good, cheating, lying coward you see before you."

Shivering at the cold, flat, emotionless voice, Vin choked out, "Gawd, Ez. Cain't even tell ya how sorry I am."

Patting Vin's hand, Chris stood up and went to stand in front of Ezra. Pushing his own grief aside in the face of the naked suffering of his younger brother, Chris reached out and placed his hands on Ezra's upper arms, unsurprised by the trembling he felt. Looking solemnly into the green eyes of his friend, he asked, "What were their names?"

A tremor ran through Ezra's entire body before he steeled himself again and replied quietly, "Amelia and James, named for Emmaline's mother and my uncle."

Nodding, Chris hauled Ezra into a tight embrace, whispering roughly, "I'm sorry, Ez. So sorry."

Remaining rigid within the embrace, Ezra fought to keep his emotions in check, reasoning that this had been about Chris finding release from his grief, not himself. Then he felt the warm moisture seep into his shirt collar and realised that the solemn gunslinger was silently weeping, pressing his face into Ezra's neck.

Pushing to his feet, Vin went to his brothers and put his arms around both men, unashamed of the tears running down his face in shared grief with them.

The minute tremors that had been coursing through Ezra's sturdy frame became all over trembling. Without volition, his arms came up to pull both Vin and Chris closer and he relinquished the tight control on his grief, letting it surge to the surface and engulf him. With a strangled cry of pain, he started to sob broken-heartedly, letting his brothers hold him together for a while. His last coherent thought was that perhaps it was better to grieve together than alone.

Josiah lowered his face into his hands, silently shaking from the force of his own crying, both from remembered pain and in response to the pain of his adopted son.

Buck went from sound sleep to instantly awake and always had. Since he'd been a child, there was no drowsy, slow awakening for him. His mother had always laughed and fondly told him that he had only two speeds, fast and stop. Now, he came awake to the familiar sensation of pain from being on the wrong side of someone's fists. Usually, that involved Larabee and would mean that he would also have the pain of a stiff neck and back from having slept in the straight back chair in Chris' room, guarding his friend from accidentally choking in his sleep. This time, however, he was lying on a bed with his head on someone's chest. Judging by the feel of the rough material under his cheek and hand, and the decided lack of feminine smell and padding, it was JD. Memories of the night before flooded Buck's mind, causing tears to force their way through still swollen eyelids. Clenching his hand in JD's godawful ugly, greenhorn, suit jacket, Buck wondered what had happened after he'd left for the clinic. He couldn't remember hearing any gunshots, so he figured that Ez must have handled Larabee and lived to tell of it. And hadn't that been a bolt from the blue, the way the easy going good ole boy from the South had become so commanding. Hell, Ez could give Chris a run for his money in the leadership stakes. Which led him to wonder why the gambler was so happy to follow Chris, especially given the shit duties the Hoosier sometimes gave him. There was a story to be told there and no mistake.

Deciding that he'd been coddled enough, Buck slowly extricated himself from JD's arms, careful not to wake the boy. Standing with a muffled grunt of pain, Buck waited for the dizziness to pass, before shuffling over to where his clothes lay in a neatly folded pile on the dresser and started to pull them on over his faded union suit. Just as he was pulling his coat on, careful of what felt like three cracked ribs, Nathan opened the door and come in with a tray of food.

Ignoring the drawn gun, Nathan entered the room and was instantly beset by two ravenous men. JD had woken when Buck left the bed, but let the older man dress himself and gather his thoughts in silence. As soon as he smelled the food that Nathan brought, any pretense at sleeping was abandoned and he leapt to his feet in order to claim his share.

Once his hunger had been sated, Buck's thoughts turned again to Chris. As though sensing this, Nathan started to regale them with Ezra's exploits of the night before.

JD had always looked up to the worldly gambler, but his admiration went through the roof after Ezra's masterful handling of the volatile leader. Much as he'd wanted to help Buck and keep him from being hurt, the young Bostonian was still slightly afraid of Chris when he was angry, so he'd kept quiet and hoped someone else would step in. Now hearing that the gambler had actually knocked the fearsome gunslinger out with a single blow and taken him to the jail was almost more than JD can handle.

"Holy Hannah! Ya mean it, Nathan? You're not funning us, are ya? Ez really hit Chris? And put him in jail? And he's still alive?"

"True as I'm sitting here, JD. Got it straight from Josiah this mornin'," confirmed the healer, gathering the now empty plates to take them back down to the restaurant.

"Damn!"

Nathan and JD both looked at Buck as the easy going man swore and hit the table, making the plates jump and rattle.

"What's wrong, Buck?"

Turning to JD, Buck explained, "Don't ya see, boy? 'Cos of me, Chris will be gunning for Ez now. I should have just..."

Standing, Nathan moved around to put his large, warm hand on Buck's shoulder, saying sternly, "Hey now, ain't no call to be blaming yourself, Buck. Ya'd been knocked around something fierce and weren't in no shape to be taking on Chris in the black mood he was in. 'Sides, Ezra is a man capable of making up his own mind and carrying out his own actions. It's about time that someone put a stop to Chris beating on you whenever he likes. Ya ain't no whipping boy, Buck Wilmington. And ya got more friends than Chris Larabee now, so just thank Ez and be done with it. Ya hear me?"

Looking up with a rare, shy smile and grateful eyes, Buck whispered, "Yeah, I hear ya. Thanks. Both of ya."

"C'mon Buck, let's get you over to the jail. I just know you won't rest until you've seen that Chris is okay. Then I'll take ya to your room and you can get some more rest. If you're real good, I'll even go tell Molly that you're in need of some of her special comforting," urged JD, trying to cheer his friend up.

"Naw, kid. I'm just going to go to my room, if it's all the same to ya. I ain't in the mood to be listening to Chris yelling at me and I'd be no use to Molly either. I'm just gonna go and get some more sleep," replied the depressed man, pushing himself up from the table.

Nodding his understanding, JD went to stand beside Buck and put his arm around the taller man's waist as a light guide. Nathan watched the two of them move slowly towards the door.

Turning just as he was leaving, Buck said a quiet thank you to the healer and then followed JD down the stairs, careful of his step. His vision was still a bit hindered by the swollen eyes and he didn't want to add falling down the stairs to his woes.

Nathan gathered the dishes, returned them to the restaurant and then made his way over to the jail. Never in a million years did he expect to find three of the toughest men he'd ever met, huddled in a knot of misery on the cell floor, whilst his old friend cried on the desk outside. Quietly shutting the door, he crept over to put his arms around Josiah, grunting a little when the preacher wrapped strong arms around his waist. Patting the older man's back, he waiting for his friends to recover.

Ezra had slid down the bars to sit on the floor, with Chris and Vin still holding him. Chris had stopped crying and seemed to be dozing on the gambler's shoulder, the vast amounts of alcohol still in his system no doubt affecting him. Vin was sniffling a bit with his head on Ezra's other shoulder, his hand stroking over Chris' back soothingly. Ezra had also stopped crying and sat with his head leaning against that of the tracker, sniffing occasionally and taking long deep breaths. He could hear Josiah still weeping softly in the background, as well as the gentle motion of a hand over fabric that told him that Nathan had arrived. JD wouldn't have been able to stay quiet and the gambler had no doubt that Buck would be avoiding Chris for the foreseeable future.

Suddenly, Ezra chuckled when the humour of the situation hit him. After all, he was sitting here with a lap full of the most dangerous gunman in the territory. Another man who'd been known to make relentless murderers whimper with fear was cuddled up to his side. He himself was considered quite a hard man by some, but he was allowing himself to be used liked a child's comfort toy. Oh yes, it was worth a chuckle.

Vin smiled at the sound of Ezra's laugh, recognising the humour himself. Sucking in a lungful of air, he carefully pushed himself away from his friends and sat back looking into Ezra's red rimmed but clear green eyes, which were currently shining with good humour. Understanding flowed between them without the need of words – Vin was heartsick with sorrow over Ezra's losses and Ezra was comforted and warmed by Vin's support and understanding. Both nodded and then looked down to where Chris was comfortably snuggled against the gambler.

"Got any ideas o' how we's gonna get the cowboy back on the bunk, or should we jist leave him there?"

"You can't leave him here, Vin. I need to use the facilities and I've lost the feeling in my lower extremities. Chris may look lanky, but he's really quite heavy," complained Ezra, wiggling experimentally to see if his feet were still attached. An extremely uncomfortable prickling sensation was his reward for the action.

"I can help you out there, son," offered Josiah, his voice hoarse from crying and his blue eyes standing out brightly from the red rimmed lids.

"Me too," offered Nathan, coming into the cell behind the preacher, making it seem a mite too small for Vin's tastes.

"Uh, I's jist going to git outta tha way," yelped the tracker, almost falling in his haste to escape the suddenly confined space, stopping at the now open doorway of the jail to take some deep lungfuls of fresh air.

Meanwhile, Josiah gently lifted Chris off the gambler and placed him on the cot, carefully covering him over with the blanket. Chris didn't wake, merely curling into a comfortable shape on his side and clenching the blanket with both hands. He hummed briefly when Josiah lay a big hand on his mussed hair, but continued to sleep peacefully.

Nathan cautiously lifted Ezra to his feet, holding him as the gambler shook out each leg and foot to try and restore feeling. For his part, Ezra rested his head on the healer's chest and clung to the strong biceps of his friend until he felt confident that letting go wouldn't result in his meeting abruptly with the floor again. Once steady, he squeezed one of the arms and gave a brief thanks before heading out the backdoor to the privy.

Turning at the sound of cutlery scraping on crockery, Nathan and Josiah grinned at the sight of the scrawny ex-bounty hunter piling the now cool food from all three plates into one large pile on the third plate. Taking up a knife to join his already clutched fork, the tracker blissfully commenced demolishing the mound of food in front of him. Looking up when he felt the weight of the other two men's gazes upon him, he managed a muffled, "What?"

Shaking his head in fond amusement, Josiah asked, "You taking the food from your friends' mouths, Vin?"

Swallowing a large, partially masticated mouthful painfully, Vin grinned and offered, "Chris ain't likely to be wanting it 'cos it'll be cold by the time he's awake an' he don't like his food cold. As for Ez, he don't eat 'fore noon. He'll jist want some coffee 'n maybe some toast. See, I's saved him some a the toast."

Breezing back in, Ez honed in on the desk and snatched the plate of toast from the tray before the tracker changed his mind and ate it too. Pouring out four cups of coffee from the pot on the stove, he balanced one on his plate and carried the other to Vin, nodding towards the other two in offer to Nathan and Josiah. Sitting in the second chair at the desk, he nibbled daintily on his slice of cold toast after smearing it liberally with the preserves on offer, then sat and watched in revolted fascination as Vin shovelled his food into his mouth enthusiastically. Eventually, he drawled, "Vin, do be sure to stop when you hear crunching. That will be the plate."

Laughing, Nathan and Josiah finished their coffee and left to do some work on the church. They'd updated Vin and Ezra on Buck and JD's doings whilst the younger men ate. Turning at the door, Josiah stared at Ezra with raised eyebrow, silently asking if he could share what he'd heard with the healer. Ezra bit his lip briefly before giving a tiny smile and nod to the preacher to signal his agreement.

"What are we gonna do 'bout Chris and Buck, Ez?"

"Nothing, my young friend. I believe we have interfered enough and should let them work it out. I think Chris has seen the error of his ways and will want to approach Buck and make his own peace. They're both good men and will work it out amongst themselves. All we can do is support them both," replied the gambler, busily smearing preserves on his second slice of toast, finding himself unusually hungry that morning.

"Ya going to tell Buck and JD 'bout what happened here this morning?"

Chewing his small bite thoughtfully, Ezra finally swallowed and said, "I've no doubt I won't need to, Vin. Either Nathan or Josiah will tell them. I don't particularly want to go through it again, but will answer their questions should they ask me. What are you smirking about?"

"Ya's calling us all by our given names," drawled the Texan delightedly.

Giving a small humph, Ezra tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile. Licking a miniscule amount of jam off his finger, he said, "It seems that brotherly love is the glue that holds shattered hearts together, Vin. It would be churlish to continue my formal address with brothers."

Standing up, Vin announced, "Well, somebody best go on patrol. See you later, brother."

Wincing at the strong slap to his shoulder given by the exiting tracker, Ezra looked over to the sleeping gunslinger and replied, "Ride safe and return soon, brother."


End file.
